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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29357685">what is dark in me illumine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck'>brynnmck</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Plug, Cunnilingus, Demon Jaime, Ethics Professor Brienne, F/M, First Time, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, proud uses of my old copy of Paradise Lost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:55:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,490</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29357685</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Suddenly she breaks off and laughs, an edge of hysteria to it, her open palm slamming down on the bar top. "Okay, no. We are not going to just go along as if last week you didn't tell me you were a <em>demon</em>."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>252</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Exchange that was Promised: Jaime x Brienne Smut Swap 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>what is dark in me illumine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarthiana/gifts">tarthiana</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you so much to tarthiana and wildlingoftarth for this beautiful smutty brainchild of an exchange! This fic was inspired by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qyxrzUe_TDM">this song</a> from tarthiana's prompts; I really enjoyed playing with the world of this story and with your excellent list of likes, tarthiana, and I hope you enjoy the result!</p><p>Huge thanks to SD Wolfpup for beta-ing, for helping me brainstorm to the right idea, and for enthusiasm and general wonderfulness! Thanks also to nire for sending me a bunch of Lucifer clips a while back--they're the reason I couldn't imagine Jaime as anything other than a bar owner in this scenario. :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaime's just finished capping the last of the bottles for the night when he looks out the front window of his bar and sees a tall figure standing there, silhouetted by the street light. He has many ways available to him to determine who the figure is, but in this case, he only needs her backlit outline and the flame of recognition leaps to life in his chest. <em>Brienne.</em></p><p>Wiping his hands on a towel, he makes his way through the empty tables, which only an hour ago had been filled with as much human joy and frailty as the fire marshal would allow. He throws the bolt on the door and holds it open. </p><p>"I know you're closed," she says, unmoving. She's dripping wet with rain. Droplets of it snake down the tendon at the side of her neck, tremble in her eyelashes. He wants to know what it tastes like. </p><p>"Not for you," he says quietly. It's only been a week and he's already missed her. It's a sensation he's never quite experienced--not for anyone in <em>this</em> world, anyway. "Would you like to come in?"</p><p>"I don't know." Her tone is drier than any martini he's ever made. "Is it safe to accept an invitation from you? Am I going to find myself trapped for all eternity or something?"</p><p>"I guess you'll just have to take your chances," he says. Lightly, because of course that's not how it works, but he's also not going to pretend that he poses no danger to her at all.</p><p>She steps over the threshold; as she passes him, he catches a whiff of night air mixed with the citrus notes of her shampoo.</p><p>"Is it alright if I lock the door?" he asks. She's the only after-closing visitor he's interested in having, but he doesn't want to lock her inside without her consent. He's not that kind of monster.</p><p>She looks at him over her shoulder, hesitates. Then, "Why not," she says, and keeps moving toward the bar.</p><p>He slips the bolt back into place. "Can I get you a drink?"</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>She takes her usual stool, and he makes her her usual drink: a generous pour of good gin, a bit of simple syrup, a shot of lemon, and a burst of champagne. A few months ago, he'd garnished it with a fresh raspberry for her, and her eyes had lit up; he's kept doing it ever since, partially because he enjoys the sight of her pleasure, and partially because he likes to watch her throat move as she tips her head back and lets the berry tumble into her mouth.</p><p>He slides the champagne glass across the bar. "So." He offers her his most charming smile. "How was your day?"</p><p>She raises an eyebrow, then shrugs and traces one long finger along the rim of the glass. "Fine, I guess. I had my freshman class today. We're doing a unit on collectivism, and I--" Suddenly she breaks off and laughs, an edge of hysteria to it, her open palm slamming down on the bar top. "Okay, no. We are not going to just go along as if last week you didn't tell me you were a <em>demon</em>."</p><p>If he chose to, he could know precisely what she's feeling. Human emotions come to him like tastes and touches: the sly nudge of greed, the razor-edge tang of truth, the heady, lush sweetness of desire. He'd detected the latter on Brienne the first night she'd come into the bar, brimming with frustration after a long day and seeking the escape of a strong drink and a conversation with someone she'd never have to see again. </p><p>When she'd told him that she was an ethics professor, he'd expected her to be stuffy and closed-minded in the way that always made him want to crack things open and shake them out on the floor to see what they were really made of. Instead, he'd found her to be blunt and quick-witted, insightful and curious; when she'd gotten her teeth into an idea, she'd been as stubborn as an aurochs in chasing it to every possible conclusion. At one point he'd managed to coax a laugh out of her, and it had hit him like a slap and a caress at the same time. Every flavor of her had only made him crave more, and halfway through the night, he'd found himself fantasizing about what that wide mouth would look like stretched open in a moan of ecstasy. </p><p>As soon as he'd caught his breath from the thought, he'd walled off the flow of his power between them; what he wants from her, he'll only take if it's freely and fairly offered. Ever since--as she's come to his bar once a week, then twice, then nearly every night--he's had only his feeble human senses to guide him, no matter how badly he wants to taste everything about her. </p><p>She's laughing, at least, and she's <em>here</em>, which must mean something. "I thought you should know," he tells her. He'd been biting his tongue on the truth for weeks, and successfully, too--until she'd kissed him. They'd been discussing the necessity of refusing to obey unjust laws and she'd stood up and leaned over the bar and pressed her lips to his right in the middle of his sentence. </p><p>He'd had to tell her, then. He's been with humans before, and though he's maintained the same code with all of them, he's never confessed his true nature; the closest he's ever come is playing it off with a wink and a smile. But he'd wanted, <em>needed</em> Brienne to know.</p><p>Of course, she'd initially thought he was joking, and then, when he hadn't laughed, she'd been angry that he'd come up with such a ridiculous story just to drive her away. Then he'd shown her the rune on the inside of his forearm, just below the elbow. Showed her the way it glows when he uses his powers, mirroring the glow in his eyes.</p><p>Brienne has a doctorate in ethics and a lifelong fascination with mythology. She'd seen the truth in it quickly enough after that. She'd seen it, and she'd left the bar without another word, and since then, he's been wondering if he'd ever see her again.</p><p>"You always smell a little bit like a campfire," she says now, her eyes seeming to pierce right through him in the way they always do when they're in the middle of some heated debate about philosophy or theology or King's Landing's shot at the Cup.</p><p>He permits himself a small smile. "Not one of my more notable powers, but yes."</p><p>"If you are what you say," she asks slowly, "what in the hells--or out of them, I guess--are you doing <em>here</em>?"</p><p>He lifts a shoulder. "I was… invited to relocate."</p><p>She narrows her eyes at him. "Explain."</p><p>He sighs. "I asked <em>why</em> too many times," he tells her, which is the shortest version he can come up with. "So I was exiled here, where I'm meant to compensate for my demonic deficiencies by tempting humans to stray from the path of good." </p><p>"So is that what you've done to me?" she demands. "Tempted me?"</p><p>The grin that slides across his face is reflex, and as wicked as he's ever been meant to be. "Why? Do you feel tempted?"</p><p>"Jaime." Her eyes are glittering now; she's angry. He wonders what that anger would feel like if he let it scrape across his skin. "I mean it."</p><p>"No," he says firmly. "I won't deny that I could have. But I haven't."</p><p>"How do I know you're telling me the truth?"</p><p>If she wants truth, he'll give it to her. "Because if I'd used even a fraction of the powers at my disposal, I could've had you in my bed weeks ago."</p><p>Her nostrils flare; he can see the blush deepen across her cheeks, across her chest. She tosses her head. "So you're telling me that you're <em>not</em> using these supposedly incredible powers?"</p><p>"I didn't say that." He leans forward a bit, forearms braced on the bar; he's been dying to share this with her, too. "You know the stockbroker who was here a few weeks back, bragging about how everything he touched turned to gold? I may have pushed him a little, just enough to convince him that he should prove himself by making a particularly risky purchase." He shakes his head, clucks his tongue. "Didn't work out for him at all, I'm afraid."</p><p>One of her eyebrows arches. "I see."</p><p>"The same with that asshole who was harassing that young woman the other night," he goes on, angling a little closer. "He went outside to smoke, and he just happened to feel compelled to start a fight with someone much larger than he was."</p><p>That gets him a faint curve of a smile. "So is that how it works? You push?"</p><p>"Most humans at least attempt to bottle up their emotions," he explains. "I can't create something that's not there, but I can reduce or even remove that bottleneck. Not so different than the alcohol, really, just the hangover varies."</p><p>She's watching him, her lips parted. The scoop neck of the silk camisole she's wearing underneath her blazer gives him a glimpse of the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathes. "You give me your word that you didn't push me." It's not so much a question as another demand.</p><p>"I swear, Brienne," he tells her, holding her gaze steadily. "I swear on the gods--and I've met them all." He turns his arm upward as he says it, so that she can see the brief glow of his rune as he speaks.</p><p>"Any other powers you've been hiding?" she wants to know.</p><p>"I can sense human emotions." Her blush spreads even further when he says it, her eyes widening briefly before he adds, "but I haven't done that, either, with you. Not since that first night. Not since I realized… well." She doesn't need him to spell it out for her.</p><p>She looks at him for a long moment, then says, decisive, "All right." She takes hold of her drink and downs it in a few distractingly long swallows, the raspberry disappearing with a quick flash of her tongue. She sets the glass back down on the bar with a delicate clink that belies the obvious strength in her hands. Jaime doesn't strictly <em>need</em> to breathe, but he's holding his breath anyway. "Then come back to my place with me."</p><p>He can't remember if his knees have ever gone weak before. Certainly not at the behest of a human. "Why?" he has to ask, because apparently he never learns. "Do you just want to fuck the demon?" He leans closer again, lowers his voice. "Because I can give you that, Brienne. Hard and fast and filthy, all the fantasies you've never dared to tell anyone about. Ruin you for mortal men." The words are forked, scraping on their way out of his throat. He wants to believe that she'll be different, but whether they're conscious of it or not, most humans he's met end up making him a vessel for all their most depraved wants. It's what he was made for, after all. </p><p>Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Her pupils are spreading, darkness over the ocean. "I like hard and fast and filthy," she says evenly. "But do you want to know what happens to me when I hear you talk about how you've chosen to make your way in this world?"</p><p>He does. Desperately. "What?"</p><p>She opens her mouth, then seems to change her mind. "Maybe in this case, a demonstration would be the better pedagogical tool."</p><p>That prim word with all those consonants bouncing around in her mouth makes him want to sink his teeth into her. "Please feel free, Doctor Tarth."</p><p>He can see her arm move, her hand disappearing somewhere below the bar top. He swallows hard. When she'd walked in, he'd noticed that she was wearing a skirt, had been fascinated by the exposed lengths of pale leg. The fascination he'd felt then is a shadow compared to what he feels now, watching her arm flex, watching her eyelids flutter shut, watching her mouth drop open in a small gasp. Then she shifts again and stretches out her hand toward him, her middle finger hovering slightly above the rest, until the pad of it is resting on his bottom lip. He doesn't need any of his enhanced senses to smell her arousal, doesn't need them to taste it as he sucks her finger into his mouth. She tastes as divine as she does sinful, and Jaime's suddenly harder than the eternal punishment for a wayward septon.</p><p>"Come back to my place," she repeats.</p><p>He doesn't need to be told again.</p><p>*  *  *</p><p>They're barely through the front door of her apartment before she's on him, her generous mouth attacking his.</p><p>"I should probably offer you a drink." The words are muffled and mangled as she wrestles her blazer off without breaking contact with his lips. He wants to laugh but he can't spare the breath.</p><p>He sinks a hand into her hair instead, pulling damp strands of it out of the low bun she favors for teaching days, angling her head so that he can sink his tongue deeper into her mouth. "I own a bar, I'm all set."</p><p>"Good." She curls her fingers into the top of his white shirt and tugs him with her as she steps backward. The apartment isn't large, but by the time they reach her bedroom, she's got enough of his buttons open that she can tug his shirt off over his head. "Is this all right?"</p><p>He swallows hard against the unaccustomed courtesy. "Just trying to catch up," he answers, untucking her camisole from her skirt. The silk of it slips over his fingers like temptation itself. He's never wanted more to know what she's feeling, and yet he doesn't want to use anything beyond his human senses without her explicit permission, and he won't pressure her by asking. He shakes off the thought of it and lets his hand slide up to the warm skin of her belly, a secret he's been longing to know.</p><p>"Anything unusual I should know about?" Her hand--her sinfully large hand--moves downward, meanwhile, down to where he's rock hard and swelling against the zipper of his slacks.</p><p>"You mean like--" He breaks off with a moan as she grips him--gropes him, really, her fingers strong and sure. "Like horns or a tail or something?" </p><p>"Something like that." She leans in to tongue the notch at the base of his throat.</p><p>"No, pretty much standard human issue. Very sorry if that's disappointing." He slides her camisole off, the static forming a brief halo of her hair around her head, tendrils of it curling from the remnants of the rain. He keeps his tone light, but despite that, he feels a wave of uncertainty. If only he could<em> feel</em> her.</p><p>He's reassured when she treats him to a lengthy, luxuriously wet kiss. "Mmm, yes. I'm extremely disappointed." She strokes his jawline. "I hope it wasn't rude of me to ask."</p><p>Relief makes him light-headed. And hungry. "What's rude is that you still have this skirt on," he tells her, and makes short work of it by yanking the zipper downward and easing the cloth over her hips until it pools at her feet.</p><p>His slacks end up tossed haphazardly over her desk, which is by far the most exciting thing that's happened to any of his clothes in months. Everything he uncovers about her is a mixture of the practical and the discreetly decadent, from the soft lace that runs along the waistband of her cotton underwear to the sturdy wooden bed that sprawls just a bit too large for sheer utility. She sweeps her navy blue duvet out of the way to reveal deep gold sheets; they're luxuriously soft against his bare skin when she pulls him down onto them with her.</p><p>Framed by the sheets, she looks a bit like a classical statue, all freckle-flecked marble and gentle hints of rose over cords of muscle that would make any sculptor weep to try to capture them. But she's warm and alive; when he puts his mouth to her wrist, he can feel the blood rushing, hear her long, low moan when he works his way up the staggering length of her arm until he can detour to her breasts. Her nipples are vaguely reminiscent of the raspberries he's been putting in her drinks--somehow, he thinks, he must have known. Hers are a more delicate blush, but far more delicious, hardening in his mouth as he licks and sucks. </p><p>She writhes beneath him, her fingers tight on his shoulders. "That thing you mentioned before," she gasps out, "about the filter."</p><p>He holds himself very still, his frail human heart thundering. "Yes?" He thinks of how carefully she'd contained herself when he'd first met her, thinks of the crisp intellectual rigor that cages her passions, thinks--</p><p>"Would you do that to me?" she asks. "I want to feel everything I can, with you." </p><p><em>Thank all the hells.</em> He prowls up her body again so he can meet her eyes. "I won't influence your desire; your limits on that are yours alone. But your pleasure…" He catches her bottom lip briefly between his teeth. "That, I'll open as wide as you like."</p><p>She huffs out a breath. "You know you're influencing my desire just by saying that, right?" He smiles, but before he can reply, she rushes on, "And just for that--what you said about being able to sense what I'm feeling? I want you to do that, too. Unless..." Her brow furrows. "Does it bother you, using your powers?"</p><p>He can't help laughing at that, a low sound that rumbles through his chest as he drops a kiss to that concerned wrinkle. "Being with you without it is like--it's like being blindfolded. Which has its place, certainly, but for now, I'd like to feel everything I can with you, too."</p><p>She gives him a slow grin, the curl of it wicked enough to make him feel right at home. "Noted, on the blindfold," she says, "but yeah, for now, can you--"</p><p>With a soft groan of relief, he loosens his own restraints. He's spent so long buttressing the wall between them with sheer force of will that the sudden flood of her goes to his head like all the liquor in his bar never could. The rich caramel sweetness of her hunger for him is studded with bursts of peppery heat that he recognizes as truth. She doesn't just want to have him, she wants to <em>know</em> him. It's dizzying.</p><p>"Are you--" she asks, cupping his cheek. "Are you sure you're all right?"</p><p>"Yes." It's a struggle to keep his eyes open beneath the onslaught of it. "More than all right. Here, I'll--" He nuzzles underneath her chin, and as he does, he lets his abilities reach out to her, slide into her. He can hear her sharp inhale. When he pulls back to look at her, her eyes are huge, her pupils blown.</p><p><em>"Oh."</em> </p><p>"Exactly." Her lust, her affection, her curiosity--all of them are humming through him, mingling with his own, racing from his overfull chest down to his aching cock. He pushes a little harder, easing aside the boundaries she usually keeps tamped down on her own pleasure. A flush creeps up her chest, spreads down over her breasts.</p><p>"Jaime. Gods."</p><p>"Wrong direction," he teases. She laughs, and there's wonder in it; her mouth works for a few seconds before she manages,</p><p>
  <em>"Fuck."</em>
</p><p>"Close enough." Jaime leans in again, dragging his tongue from one nipple across to the other. Her whole body shivers. Her pleasure rolls over him like the silk of her camisole skimming over his skin. "Brienne." He kisses her bellybutton, the indentations inside the jut of her hipbones, the tender skin just above the tuft of hair between her legs. The muscles of her abdomen contract beneath his lips. "You have no idea how much I've wanted this."</p><p>"I've got lots of ideas," she answers. "The first time I saw you at the bar, I thought about dragging you back to my office and fucking you over my desk."</p><p>The image of it must be vivid in her mind, given how the reflected heat of it sizzles down his spine. "Seems like maybe we've wasted some time, then." He scrapes his teeth over the juncture where her leg meets her pelvis. He can smell her again--after what she'd done in the bar earlier, he thinks that scent will be engraved on his senses until long after his human form has crumbled to dust--and his mouth waters.</p><p>"No." Her fingers are gentle in his hair; she tugs until he looks up. Her eyes are heavy, the curve of her mouth dreamy. "It's better this way." He feels a rush of affection from her, like a blanket being drawn around him.</p><p>He groans again and thanks her the best way he knows how: by spreading her thighs with his hands and drawing his tongue along the seam of her cunt. She makes a shocked noise as soon as he touches her, and he grins; he's just getting started. He licks a few long stripes, learning her texture. Then he uses his thumbs to spread her wider, dips inside her further, and <em>ah</em>. There's the tantalizing flavor of long-denied impulses, certainly, but he can also taste her wry humor, her stubborn insistence that the world can be made better, her forthrightness, her <em>honesty</em>--delicacies he's sampled all-too-infrequently in his long life. All of it eddies within her lust, as addictive and rich as spiced chocolate, and he thinks he could spend eternity here, with his thumb on her clit and her wetness soaking his face and her thighs like iron over his shoulders. He can feel her getting close, can feel it in the slick mess of her on his tongue and the onslaught of all that unleashed sensation, all of it surrounding him until he's rutting against the mattress as he sucks her clit into his mouth and she clenches her hand in his hair and comes with a loud cry.</p><p>He keeps licking her, afterward, gentling his tongue but unwilling to give up the taste of her, basking in the glow of her bliss that spreads over him like warm honey. He feels raw and ravenous, wondering how many of those delicious orgasms he can coax out of her before the sun rises. Before long, though, she uses the hand that's tangled in his hair to tug him upward, and gives him a fervent kiss that ends with her own wetness smeared across her chin. He can't resist swiping his tongue across it.</p><p>"I think I could get used to these powers of yours," she tells him, her voice hoarse. </p><p>"They do come in handy," he admits, grinning. </p><p>"Mmm." She stretches, arching up against him, making him gasp when his cock brushes her stomach. "I wasn't just talking about the supernatural ones," she says with a grin of her own, and as he kisses her again, he feels almost foolish enough to be human.</p><p>Brienne, meanwhile, makes no secret of her intentions, nudging him with her knees and calves until his cock is sliding through the silky, sloppy heat between her legs. Even the first touch is enough to send sparks from the back of his neck all the way down to his toes. If he weren't immortal, he'd be worried he wouldn't survive actually being inside her.</p><p>"Do demons get STDs?" she murmurs as she runs her fingernails over his ass. Her tone is amused, and breathless enough, still, to make him preen. "Or are you planning to impregnate me with some sort of spawn?"</p><p>He chuckles. "Nope, sorry--on both accounts." She tilts her hips and he has to force himself to keep his eyes open so he can see her response when he adds, "What a tragically prosaic experience this must be for you."</p><p>She just laughs giddily up at the ceiling. He feels it like the golden glow of sunrise.</p><p>"Maybe we should switch things up, then. What are your feelings about toys?" she asks, catching her bottom lip between her very lucky teeth. </p><p>"I'm ready to do anything and everything to make you scream," he answers--maybe too readily, but it's difficult to think, with her lust pouring into him and his cock against her cunt. "What did you have in mind?"</p><p>She jerks her head sideways. "In the bedside drawer, there." </p><p>He raises an eyebrow at her and leans over her until he can pull the drawer open. There's an… assortment inside, and he whistles low as he looks back at her. Not that her appetite really surprises him; he can feel it rumbling in his belly, echoing his own.  "Well, well, well. This is quite a menu."</p><p>"See anything you like?" she asks.</p><p>"I see many things." She has multiple vibrators, a set of cuffs and a blindfold, a harness--<em>that's</em> intriguing--and a smooth, tapered butt plug. "Lady's choice, of course."</p><p>"I want--" She leans up to pluck the plug out of its place, holds it out to him. "For some reason I'm feeling particularly greedy tonight."</p><p>"Greed can send you to the hells, you know," he informs her, tongue tucked into his cheek.</p><p>She smiles. "I'm finding that I'm suddenly much more open to that possibility."</p><p>He kisses her hard for that, then makes quick work of coating the toy generously with lube and kneels between her spread legs.</p><p>"Vibration on or off?"</p><p>"On." Her eyes are scorching, watching him. He nods and flips the switch; as soon as the silicone comes in contact with her skin, he can feel her pleasure and anticipation spike, sending another shockwave through him. His cock, still a little sticky with her juices, twitches.</p><p>Her eyelids flutter. "Can you feel that, too?"</p><p>"Yes." </p><p>"Good." She gives him another one of those smiles, hot as hellfire and sweet as salvation.</p><p>Slowly, he works the toy in further, skating his fingers over her clit to help ease the way. Her back arches and her fingers twist in the sheets.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>, that feels so good. I can't wait to have you inside me, too."</p><p>"Yes," is all he can answer, enthralled by the sight of her splayed out beneath him. The plug is almost all the way inside her now, and when it settles into place, she lets out a little keening noise.</p><p>"Now," she insists, her hands scrabbling at his thighs, "fuck me <em>now</em>," in a tone that brooks no argument--a tone he suspects isn't far off from what she uses on her students, the tone she's used on him when they're embroiled in a particularly thorny theoretical moral quandary. It's never failed to make him as hard as steel, and he falls forward with a grateful groan.</p><p>She's slick and swollen and her cunt closes around him like a warm fist as he sinks inside her. The vibration of the plug in her ass echoes against his cock, a low, teasing hum. Her urgency is a caress of its own along his heated skin.</p><p>"Hells, I've wanted this," he growls into her ear, punctuating it with a thrust that makes his toes curl. When she moans, he feels it inside and out. "I want so many things with you." Saying it feels like cracking himself open, but since he's awash in the onslaught of all of her unleashed feeling, it seems only fair to try to return the favor.</p><p>She braces her feet on the bed and shoves up to meet him. "Tell me."</p><p>With her warmth blanketing him, it's impossible not to confess. "I want to stay in this bed with you for a week, learn every flavor of every part of you. I want you to come to my bar wearing nothing but a long coat and let me fuck you with my fingers until you can't remember anything but my name." </p><p>"Yes," she tells him eagerly after each admission, "yes, yes, please--"</p><p>He plunges deeper inside her, her pleasure layering over his until he's nearly blind with need. "I want to sit in on one of your classes and then have you take me back to your office and bend me over your desk and use that strap on me. I want to make you breakfast, <em>fuck</em>, Brienne, I've never wanted that with a human before, I--" and then he loses the words, but it doesn't matter because her long limbs are entwining him and the plug is still vibrating against his cock and she feels better around him than the heavens he'll never see. He arches his back, bending down so he can tongue her nipple. She cries out when the root of his cock hits her clit just right, and he does it again and again, grinding against her, driving them both higher.</p><p>"Jaime," she gasps, "I want--can you feel--" </p><p>The only reply he can make is a helpless moan; he feels so much that he's not sure how his fragile human flesh can contain it. He wants to give her everything that could be good in him, tattered and stained though it might be. Right now, it's as close as he can get to give her this: her orgasm rippling through her like sun breaking through the clouds, lighting him up and sending him flying right alongside her.  </p><p>He stays buried inside her as long as he can, gilded by her satisfaction, the taste of her cunt and her joy mingling on his tongue. Eventually she shifts, huffs out a small laugh that's barely edged with discomfort; at that, he pulls both himself and the toy out of her, kisses the ridge of her cheekbone. </p><p>When he emerges from his turn in the bathroom, she beckons him back to her bed and wraps herself around him again--slight, soft curves over solid muscle. Beneath the sweat and sex, he can still smell the memory of rain. He shifts onto his side to feel her curled against his back, feeling his world tilt with him. Lust, he knows; hunger, he knows. Contentment, though--contentment isn't granted to the likes of him.</p><p>"That was," she starts on a sigh, then, "Wait." He can feel her pull back enough to trace a curve along the back of his shoulder. "Are these <em>wings</em>? How did I not notice these before?"</p><p>He can still feel the sting of the tattoo needle sometimes, a hint of the larger phantom pain. "I guess you must have been distracted," he tries, with as much smugness as he can muster.</p><p>It doesn't work; she just snorts and keeps tracing down the line of his spine, making him shiver. "They're beautiful."</p><p>They had been, once. "They're a reminder," he says shortly.</p><p>"Of what?"</p><p>"Of what I am. And what I'm not." It's just as well to remind her, too, especially now. She should consider what she's invited into her bed.</p><p>She's silent for a few breaths before she works an arm under his and hooks her chin over his shoulder. "You know, I've come to believe that a moral existence isn't about what you <em>are</em>, it's about what you choose to do. You took what you were given, and you carved out your own path. You should be proud of that." She drops a gentle kiss on the side of his neck. "And if you can't be, then I'll be proud enough for both of us."</p><p>His chest aches; he twines his fingers through hers. "Pride will get you in trouble, too, you know."</p><p>She chuckles and nips the shell of his ear. "I'll take my chances." There's silence again, while he allows himself to drift on the current of her faith in him, just for a moment. Then she whispers, "I have so many questions."</p><p>The sleep-soaked eagerness in her voice makes him laugh. "Of course you do, Doctor Tarth. I'll tell you what I can, but you know I can't answer all of them." Some of the things he knows, the things he's seen, are not for mortal minds.</p><p>"I know," she sighs. "So let's start with this one: will you stay, tonight?"</p><p>He turns in her arms. "Brienne." He's never known quite how much he wanted to <em>belong</em> somewhere until now. "I'm a demon, not a fool." He presses his lips to hers, and when he slides his tongue inside her mouth, she tastes like hope.</p>
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